


Impressionable

by eyemeohmy



Series: robot jesus and the average medic [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Gen, Headcanon, M/M, Pre-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 22:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1957680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyemeohmy/pseuds/eyemeohmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, it wasn't a very <i>good</i> first impression.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impressionable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [babbling_bug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/babbling_bug/gifts).



> Using some of my Ambulon headcanon for this fic, naturally. Just an idea of how these two met.
> 
> Please excuse/pardon any grammatical errors you may come across.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Captain."

Orion Pax turned from the sun set, watching Ratchet shuffle down the front steps to the Academy. "Not yet," he chuckled. The campus was cast in a warm yellow and orange glow, and for a moment, he looked haloed by light. "And still plausible."

"But we both know you're going to get it," Ratchet smirked, stopping before his friend. "They might as well just skip the waiting process and announce your new captain-ship."

"It's best to remain humble."

Ratchet cocked an optic ridge. "You? Humble? Please," he laughed. "You showboat around town like you're the next Prime." He was joking, of course--mostly. Orion just laughed along, and soon the two were heading off, keeping pace with one another. "But, seriously. We're going to throw a nice, big party once you've been made captain. Don't worry about the engex--it'll be my treat."

Orion smirked. "Well, considering you'll probably drink most of it..."

Ratchet playfully elbowed him in the arm. "Watch it. I'm still your elder, so show me some respect."

Orion threw his hands up. "Yes, sir."

Ratchet groaned. "Don't call me that," he grumbled. "It really _does_ make me feel old."

"You're still fairly spry," Orion reassured. "Especially when you're overcharged and at a club."

"Pfft."

Orion pat his friend on the back. "If I don't get captain-ship," he offered, "how about I take you out for a drink instead?"

"I don't care much for pity parties."

"That would imply it's a party for _you_."

Ratchet snorted. "You are going to be the sassiest little scraplet when you're made captain."

" _If_ ," Orion corrected. "I appreciate your gumption, but I--"

Orion quickly pushed Ratchet aside before the racing mech from behind could run into him. Unfortunately, said bot ran into Orion instead, knocking the officer aside. Orion was fast, however; quickly caught the mech's arm before he could fall over.

The bot wrenched his arm free, whipping around with wide optics and a defensive stance. He kept one arm shielded across his chest.

"Is everything alright?" Orion asked, approaching the nervous purple-blue Cybertronian. "I'm from the Rodion Police Force; do you need help, sir?"

The mech blinked his wide, yellow optics. " _Scrap_ ," he cursed, turning quickly on his feet and hightailing it out of there.

Orion was stunned; he watched the nervous bot flee into a crowd, disappearing.

Well, that was... interesting.

"He was in a hurry," Ratchet scoffed, rejoining his friend's side. He looked behind him, to see if anyone had been chasing the nervous mech. "Thanks, by the way. My hero."

"It's nothing." Though Orion was still concerned about the stranger. "Did you recognize that mech?" he asked.

Ratchet shook his head. "No. Haven't seen him around here before."

Orion bowed his head. "I think I have," he murmured, thoughtfully stroking his chin. "But I can't be sure."

"He seemed scared," Ratchet noted. "Maybe you should go after him?"

"He's long gone by now. Doesn't appear to be pursued," Orion replied. "But I'll keep an optic out for him around the Academy."

Ratchet snorted, arms akimbo. "Keen senses you got there, though," he said. "Orion Pax: super cop. Possibly psychic."

Orion laughed. "So says the nonbeliever."

"Wouldn't that be hilarious. I guess we'd both have to eat our skidplates."

"That's not an image I'd like to imagine."

\---

Orion transformed into bipedal mode outside the Rodion police station. He glanced around the busy area a moment before inventing sharply.

This was it. Later today, the retiring captain would announce his replacement.

Orion took another deep breath before heading inside.

As usual, the station was flooded and chaotic. The phones never stopped ringing, there never seemed to be enough operatives on stand-by, officers were hauling criminals to and from their cells, people storming about in a noisy frenzy.

Orion headed to reception, patiently waiting for the operator to finish his call. The mech raised a finger to him before turning, sifting through cubbies. Orion nodded, leaning against the desk; he gazed around the station before catching a familiar face.

Across the room, a purple and blue mech sat on a bench by processing, hands cuffed behind his back. Orion could see he was wounded: his right yellow optic was cracked, nearly sealed closed. A giant, purple bruise blossomed from dented metal on his right cheek. One corner of his frown was torn and puffy, dried energon crusted around the edges. He sat forward, head bowed, occasionally glancing up when an officer walked by.

"Sorry about that, Pax. Been a Hellavuh day, and it's just gettin' started."

Orion blinked and looked back to the receptionist handing him his messages. Orion took them, hesitated a moment. "Who's he?" he asked, nodding to the mech on the bench.

The receptionist squinted, thinking a moment. "Dunno."

"He hasn't been processed yet?"

"Busy, busy." The receptionist sighed as his phone lit up with a new call. "Listen, Throttlethrust is the one who brought him in. Ask him." With that, he answered the phone, dry, annoyed voice instantly back to professional.

Orion frowned under his maskplate. It was obvious the mech needed treatment, and with the way things were going...

Orion swiftly crossed the room, stopping Throttlethrust before he could head out. "Reception told me you brought in that perp?" he asked, pointing to the mech. "What's his designation?"

"Hell if I know. He hasn't spoken a word since I picked him up."

"What's his charge?"

"Third degree robbery at Pill's Pharmacy outside Dead End. Caught him just before he could make a run for it."

Orion blinked. "Pill's? You don't think he's connected to the recent--"

Throttlethrust sighed and raised his hands. "Dunno, Pax. It's outta my hands now. Captain wants me back on the street." He shrugged. "If you want, talk to him. He's not been booked yet."

Orion nodded. "Right." He pat Throttlethrust's shoulder.

The officer smiled and headed off.

When Orion next turned to face the mech, he was surprised to find the perp had been watching him. He quickly ducked his head, but too late. Orion invented; he crossed the room, the mech's head bowed even lower. "I'm officer Orion Pax. I'll be processing you today," he explained. Paused. "We've met once before, if you recall, back at the Academy of Science and Technology."

The mech looked away; did not answer.

Orion, however, did not mind. "Let's get you cleaned up," he said. He reached out, cautiously, noting the way the mech flinched when he raised his hand. Then how the perp looked furious (though not furiously _at_ him) for his sudden display of obvious fear. Orion took him by the arm, carefully but tightly, slowly pulling him onto his feet. The mech did not struggle, haunched forward; Orion soon figured out the mech was obviously trying to remain unnoticed.

Orion pulled the mech into the nearest empty interrogation room. "Take a seat," he said, pointing to one of the two chairs at the table. "I'll be right back."

The mech watched as the door shut. He glanced around the room, then at the one-way mirror. Scowled at his beat-up reflection. He cursed internally as his hands grind just slightly in the stasis cuffs; a minute later, Orion returned. The click deadbolt of the door locking echoed in the quiet room, muffling the rambunctious commotion outside.

"Here we go."

The mech's optics fell from Orion's face to the medkit in his hand. "Take a seat," the officer repeated, though his voice was more stern, "please."

The perp took a moment before sitting in the closest chair.

"Sit forward."

He obeyed, though kept his optics on the officer. Not sure if this was going to lead into an "interrogation" that started with head bashing against the table. To his surprise, however, Orion was simply undoing his cuffs, switching them off and subspacing them into a spare compartment.

The mech brought his hands back around, slowly, studying them. He winced as a few of his fingers ached when he moved them. Just barely in stiff twitches.

"Broke your hands?" Orion sighed, disappointed. "Throttlethrust..." He took the second chair, pulling it in front of the mech. The perp froze up as Orion forced his chair around to face him before sitting, close enough now that their knees touched. He watched, both alarmed and wary, as Orion opened the medkit on the table, removing disinfectant pads. "I'm no medic, but I know a thing or two. Basic first aid."

The mech squinted his single good optic.

"Do you have a name?"

Nothing.

Orion peeled open the disfectant pad. "You're a field medic, judging by the medical badges on your shoulders," he started, much to his prisoner's surprise. "Given your colors and the caution markings, you work in the mines." He raised his hand for the mech's face; a small warning. The poor sod seemed to have finally realized his situation, and reluctantly let the officer take his chin, pull him a little closer. "I can look you up in the registry. Given the proximity to Dead End, you must work in S5-6. ... Tilt your head, please."

The mech did so, looking less suspicious and more guilty.

"So, if you'd prefer th--"

"Antigen."

Orion stopped. He met the mech's optics. He immediately looked away. By the expression on his beaten face, as well as hesitant tone, Orion knew he was lying.

But, well, it was a start.

"Alright. Antigen," he said, "this is going to sting a little."

"I know," Antigen replied right before the pad swept across the cut at the edge of his mouth. He squeezed his optics shut, kept quiet and as still as possible. "As you pointed out," he continued after Orion had cleaned the wound up, "I am a medic."

"Care to explain what you were doing at Pill's Pharmacy?" Orion switched out for a cleaner pad.

Antigen went silent again. Growled as Orion cleaned the grime under his bashed optic.

"Sorry." He worked in softer strokes, and that seemed to settle the medic a bit. "You were saying?"

Antigen invented. Another minute pause. "Supplies," he murmured.

"Medical supplies, I assume?"

"Given it is a pharmacy..."

Orion smirked under his maskplate. Despite his position, the mech still packed some sass. "You don't go to the Academy," he stated, "and when we ran into each other, you recognized me as a police officer. You were running, and I'm going to take a guess carrying something important on you." He met Antigen's optics, much to the perp's chagrin. "Something that did not belong to you."

Antigen swallowed, the pad cleaning out the small crack in his damaged optic. "... Yes."

"More medical supplies, then. I would have noticed if someone was chasing after you. Why were you running in such a panic?"

Antigen was slow to answer. Reluctant to answer. "Time is... limited." That, however, wasn't entirely the truth, either.

Orion just bobbed his head in a nod. He switched out the disinfectant pads with a small dermal welder for the shallow cuts. "I may need to call someone in to look at your hands," he explained, taking Antigen by the chin again, pulling him closer. Antigen did not fight, allowing himself to be guided. "The medical supplies--what were they for? Do you not receive regular supply shipments to the mines?"

Antigen winced, and Orion knew it wasn't from the repairs being made to the bruise on his cheek.

"Not... mines."

"How do you mean?"

"Not... Not the mines." Antigen sighed, closing his optic. "People in the Dead End... They can't afford... they can't afford to see a doctor. Most of them can't, at least. Especially not... not the ones _here_." His voice was laced with disgust. "Back alley medical service... Can't even afford..." He trailed off in a low, throaty growl.

Orion was silent, working on finishing the dent. "So, you've been offering treatment, but can't use the mine's medical supplies," he said.

Antigen sighed. "Yes."

For a minute, they said nothing. Orion focusing on his work, though there was a certain heat growing in his spark. Something akin to rage--

"Don't pity us."

Orion widened his optics, looked into Antigen's burning yellow gaze.

"Don't... pity us," Antigen repeated, dryly, "we're not... It's just as bad... just as bad as treating us like dirt..."

Orion's blue optics softened. "I'm sorry," he apologized, and the medic was surprised at how... _genuine_ he sounded. "That was not my intention."

Antigen didn't know what to say. This felt like some sort of mind game. He wasn't sure if he should keep his mouth closed. He'd already said too much as is.

Orion finished the last cut, placing the welder back in the kit. "Your hands," he said, and Antigen fingers twitched again, "let me get one of the nurses--"

"No need."

Orion stopped.

"No... No need," Antigen murmured. "Just... I can instruct you. You have the tools."

"Wouldn't you prefer an actual doctor patching you up?"

Antigen glared at the one-way mirror.

Ah. Right. But that meant...

"You trust me to take care of them?"

"No. Not really," Antigen grumbled, though there was that hesitant, not-so-honest tone again... "But given the patch-up work I've seen from your office on other people..." He snorted. "Quick fix, then get out. Don't waste time or supplies if you don't have to. Whatever works; whatever's most convenient for the precinct's budget."

Orion said nothing in response. He knew what Antigen meant, and agreed with him. Just wasn't exactly how to phrase it without coming off as insincere, or possibly patronizing. "It's a problem, yes," he replied instead. He showed the kit to the medic. "Which instruments?"

Antigen looked at the tools, slowly back to Orion. "You know," he said, "to your coworkers, you might as well be giving me a weapon."

"I don't take you for the type. Besides, what can you do with those hands?"

Antigen blinked. "... The circuit disabler."

It was an... interesting show, to say the least. Antigen sat on the edge of his seat--literally, and figuratively--his commands firm and slow. Orion listened perfectly; though it was obvious he was no medic, he'd done a fine job so far. The pain was minimal, receptors numb; Antigen grimaced at one peripheral circuit popping, but was more surprised at Orion's genuine apology for his slip-up.

It was weird, too. Orion Pax was not like the rest of the police force, it seemed. Earlier, Antigen just believed he was laying on the sugar, waiting until he had his guard down before striking. That... didn't seem the case, now.

Orion _actually cared_.

Antigen studied the mech's own hands. Larger than his, sleek blue, thick digits. They were nice. Strong. He imagined what Orion would be like working in the mines--certainly not as tough as the miners, but he'd get by. He'd probably bust his ass, too.

Antigen winced; those large fingers gently turned his over. No pain, just... For such strong hands, they were remarkably gentle.

"I've been talking with my colleague in regards to opening a free clinic in the Dead End."

Antigen's optics widened. His shock subsided into suspicion, ridges furrowing. "You're kidding." Because, really--this officer was nice and all, but couldn't be _that_ nice. Too good to be true.

"Yes," Orion replied, keeping his eyes on the repairs. "Nothing concrete yet, but I'm hoping when--if--I make captain by the end of the day, I'll have more leverage. It's one of my top priorities."

"I don't believe you."

"And I don't expect you, too. It's fine. If I was in your place, I'd feel the same."

"But you're not," Antigen said, voice lowering, "you're not... in my place. And you won't ever be."

Optimus's optics dimmed. "No," he retorted, "and I won't pretend I completely understand or sympathize."

Antigen wrinkled his nose. Was there no way to piss this guy off? Not that he was deliberating trying, but... Seriously, what were these tactics? "Kill with kindness"?

"There," Orion exvented, sitting up. He switched off the welder. "Try now."

Antigen slowly flexed each of his fingers. "Still a little stiff," he murmured, but... "Satisfactory job."

Orion chuckled. "I'll take that as a compliment." He pat his knees. "Now." Stood to his feet. "Let's see what we can do to get you out of here with a few supplies."

Antigen widened his optics.

\---

"I was lying."

Optimus opened his optics, powering them back online. He turned his head, regarding Ambulon with a curious stare. "Hmm?"

"I was lying. Mostly," Ambulon murmured. He was studying his hands. "I believed you."

It took Optimus a moment. He chuckled, relaxing against the berth. "I had a feeling," he replied, scooting closer to the quiet, thoughtful medic.


End file.
